


Unknown

by brokenexistence



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenexistence/pseuds/brokenexistence
Summary: Murtaugh finds himself concerned over Riggs' mental well being after discovering blood on his sleeve, and quickly soon after shit hits the fan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Shit author and possible self-harm.

Unknown

Chapter 1: Discover

Murtaugh read through the report of his latest case. To say it was a page turner was an understatement. Although, clearly, it wasn’t a George R. R. Martin novel, Riggs definitely had a way of turning any routine, mundane job into something more fitting for a cinematic movie. Murtaugh took a sip of his coffee and sighed deeply when his sight floated over his computer screen. There the blinking text cursor ended at the end of his typed explanation to how the unfortunate – and unpredictable – death of a suspect Riggs and himself had been pursuing at the city zoo had come due to an onslaught of a crossed ostentation. The suspect, Lorenzo Steeps, had jumped into an enclosure, clearly underestimating the dangers of the fabulously-feathered birds. Murtaugh’s brows furrowed as he conjured back the memory: blue-green feathers plastered to the brown dirt with the adhesive properties of the poor fucker’s blood, like some sort of fucked up art-and-crafts project. Peacocks will never hold the same feeling of docility and beauty ever again. It had been two days since that incident and Murtaugh still got goosebumps at the mere thought of it.

“Hey, man. Are you okay?”

Murtaugh jumped at the words, hands suddenly up ready to smack a few bird heads that jumped at him like whack-a-moles.

“Take it easy, Rog. The peacocks still giving you nightmares?” Riggs asked as he took his seat and leaned back, fingers locking behind his head of curly locks.

“What?” Murtaugh said sounding genuinely surprised. “How do you know about the nightmares?”

“Trish told me.” Riggs casually said as if it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

“Trish?”

Riggs nodded, then squeezed his eyes tight as his body stretched, his arms now reaching for the ceiling, and finally he relaxed into his chair. Murtaugh’s sight caught a glimpse of a stain on the inside of Riggs’ sleeve: dark, but of little importance at the moment.

“My Trish?”

Riggs gave him a sideways glance before spinning on his chair, his sights on the ceiling with the dreamy, half interested look on his face as if he was pondering over a starry night. He let the chair slow to practical halt before pushing himself into another spin. “I need a nap. You too, Rog. You look like crap. No offence.”

“Plenty taken.” Murtaugh said feigning insult. “When did you speak to my wife?”

“Just this afternoon.” He said innocently. “She wants me to come over for dinner, if you don’t mind.”

“What?” Murtaugh exclaimed, forcing a groan out of Riggs that sounded very similarly to a feral animal’s growl.

“Look, Rog, your wife likes me. No biggy.”

“Yes, biggy. I’m not sure how I should feel about this.”

“Why? You jealous?” Riggs asked throwing Murtaugh a cheeky smile, then he spun again.

Rog took the chance now that Riggs wasn’t looking to smile. Martin was like family. So, no he wasn’t jealous, he was touched. There was a warm feeling sitting over his heart that had not been there a few moments ago. He felt like a kid again, bringing a friend home from school so they can play football in the backyard. Except that he wouldn’t want to play football with Riggs. The guy looked – and probably played – like a brutish cowboy.

“Dinner’s at seven.” Riggs said, his leg now lazily spinning him around-and-around. “Trish said not to be late.”

“Yeah? Well, if we are late it would probably be because of you. You have no sense of time.”

“Yeah, I do.” Riggs objected. 

“Man, no you don’t. You walk into the office at whatever time you feel like. You eat breakfast during lunch time. You probably don’t even know what time it is now. You’re like a lost puppy. We need to get you a watch.”

“I have a watch. See?” Riggs said suddenly stopping his spinning to show Murtaugh the watch around his left wrist.

“Does it work?”

“Yeah, it works.” Riggs said not even bothering to check if the damned thing was still ticking, and in all honesty Murtaugh would probably only half-believed it to be true even if he had.

“I’m gonna have to verify that for myself.” Murtaugh said as he got up and stroll over to Riggs, grabbing his wrist to inspect the watch’s true functionality. “I bet this thing is just for show.”

Riggs released a hiss of pain as soon as Murtaugh had wrapped his hand around his lower arm. He instinctively hoicked his arm back but Murtaugh didn’t let go.

“Come on, Rog, it works. Now let go.” He said, not even making eye contact. Suddenly, there was a shift in the ambient mood.”

Murtaugh turned Riggs arm over and saw the dark stain on his sleeve he had spotted just a moment before hand had grown significantly. Murtaugh could smell the distinctive coppery scent, and he knew the exactly what it was: fresh blood.

“Are you bleeding?” Murtaugh asked, his voice riddled with sudden concern.

Riggs tried to take his arm back again, this time succeeding. “It’s no big deal…”

“That’s a surprise.”

Riggs sighed at the interruption.

“Do you need to talk to someone about it?” Murtaugh asked with a tone maybe too much on the accusatory side.

Riggs finally whipped his head around to look at Murtaugh. His eyes were narrowed. His jaw visibly clenched. Murtaugh had obviously struck a chord. “You think I did this to myself?”

“Well, did you?” Murtaugh could hear himself, and he knew as he spoke that maybe this wasn’t the best approach to dealing with this kind of situation but his temper carried him away sometimes and this was no exception.

Riggs looked at Murtaugh straight into his eyes, and in the dark-hazily eyes of his Murtaugh could see an emptiness that threatened to swallow him up. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end but he couldn’t part his sights from Rigg’s eyes. He searched them and saw an intoxication not caused by alcohol but by hurt and he had a sudden, deep urge to wrap his arm around him and apology for the damage life had done to him.

But he didn’t. Maybe it was because they were surrounded by people, or maybe it was because the gesture would have bordered into the awkward, but some unknown force had stopped him.

Riggs was the one to break eye contact. He pushed himself off his chair and Murtaugh stepped aside.

“Fuck you.” Riggs said before walking away. His voice hadn’t risen nor had it been harsh, yet Murtaugh felt the sheer paroxysm behind his word.

**Author's Note:**

> I know they may be a little out of character. Its been a (very, very) long time since I've written anything and, to be completely frank, I feel rusty as hell. But feel free to drop me a comment. Feedback is much appreciated.


End file.
